Heavy Affliction
by ShhUrDead678
Summary: On a hunt, Dean and John learn some things about Sam he has been holding out on. Sad!Hurt!Sam15 Pissed!Angsty!Dean19,John
1. Chapter 1

i hope you all enjoy this story!! it may seem a lil slow at first, but i had to get the basics of the fanfic down so you can understand later on.

ok, so just a little fyi, im not super amazingly smart when it comes to the supernatural, like the actual monsters, so if i mess up or use inaccurate information, let me know!

**ENJOY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!**

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Sam walked out from the bathroom with a towel wrapped loosely around his hips, his hand carrying his dirty clothes then throwing them in a corner. He had long since gotten used to his father and brother's needlessly unorganized ways of life, at least when it came to the simple things.

He was getting ready to grab a clean pair of clothes out of his duffel when he caught a sight of Dean's expression. He sat still across from Sam, on the bed, his eyes staring intently at the paper. Currently, it was something of confusion, a mixture of unexplained anger and ample agitation, like his mind was searching and searching for some sort of stored information, but just couldn't grasp it.

His hand wrapped lightly around his towel, Sam walked over to him and sat next to him, looking over his shoulder to see what the hell was his problem. A second after, Dean jumped up from his position on the bed, a look of pride etching his features. Apparently he had remembered what he had been previously been considering.

Sam rose an eyebrow, just staring, until Dean finally got off his damn pedestal and turned to face him. Sam spoke. "The hell's your problem?"

Dean rolled his eyes dramatically, a smirk beginning to play on his lips. "There isn't a problem, at least not anymore. I found our next hunt."

John had asked Dean last night to look up a hunt for them in the local newspaper, see if there was one nearby so they didn't have to move, probably for Sam's sake. It was usually John who found the hunts, and Dean took the job with great pleasure, a certain sense of pride filling up in him at the independence John was finally allowing him, Sam knew; he had seen it, like he saw everything about his brother. It was a given.

Too bad Dean wasn't the same way.

Not that he blamed Dean, of course. He had been taught from the best, and his lying ability surpassed any other 15 year old, he knew. He wondered if he was _too _good sometimes, like he would go to hell for it, along with everything else he had been born into. But no, he wouldn't blame Dean, not at all. And, if Dean _did _know...well, let's not go there. "What if's" don't have a place here, Dean wasn't going to find out, and that was that.

"So what's the hunt?" Sam asked casually, his expression much too innocent to be considered legal. Dean probably noticed the same thing, his eyes locking onto Sam's a mite longer than usual, then brought his eyes back to the paper.

"It's Bloody Mary."

Sam rose an eyebrow, tilting his head to one side in confusion. "Bloody Mary? Really?" He'd heard of her. You have to say "Bloody Mary" three times for her to appear, or so the legend goes, but that was really all he knew.

He was slacking.

Dean nodded, about to say something, when John knocks rapidly on the door four times. Dean put the newspaper down on the bed beside Sam, walking over to let the older man in. John held a bag of food in his hand, a newspaper in the other, and set it all down on a small table.

"You got a hunt for us, son?"

Dean nodded proudly. "Bloody Mary, sir." John smiled, probably already discovering her with his own use of the newspaper. But he was proud nonetheless, offering a firm grip on Dean's shoulder, shaking it lightly, a gesture Sam rarely received. Dean beamed at the silent gratification.

"All right, so what do we know about Bloody Mary?" John asked, his gaze suddenly focusing on Sam. Sam stuttered, knowing the question was directed at him, but was without a firm answer. He should _know _about Bloody Mary; hell, anything pertaining to bigass bitches or killing people was something that was to be located on the top of his "Necessary List of Life" list, required to be dully noted, completely learned and capable of repeat prior to the age of 10 .

Dean noticed Sam's pause, quickly working on a response. "Well, we know she materializes in mirrors if "Bloody Mary" is said three times in front of the mirror."

John nodded, his disappointment toward Sam not going unnoticed. Sam's head hung low, ashamed, but he couldn't help but feel a little excited about this hunt. It actually sounded kind of cool and, since he really didn't know about Bloody Mary, this could be a seriously good time to learn something new, instead of the same old shit.

"Okay, so she appears in mirrors, good. I also did a little talking around with some witnesses in the paper"- so John had already known about the Bloody Mary - "The person that calls for Bloody Mary isn't necessarily the person that gets killed."

Dean furrowed his eyebrows questioningly. "Really? I would've thought she'd take down whoever called her back. What, she just take down some bitch related to the person?"

John smiled knowingly. "You got it, son. But that's not all of it. She only goes after people with secrets. Big secrets."

Sam froze suddenly, his blood going cold and his brain turning to cooked spaghetti_. What?! _He wasn't liking this hunt as much as he thought he would, not at all. The blood suddenly drained from his face, and he could hear his heart beating, faster and faster. Dean and his dad, they couldn't know, couldn't find out. They'd hate him, think he was weak, useless.

Sam suddenly felt the urge to get out of the room, give himself some space, and quickly found he had a good excuse to do exactly that. He grabbed a fresh pair of clothes out of his duffel, suddenly self-conscious, then shuffeled into the bathroom without a word. He locked the door, being sure to turn the knob very quietly. It had always been a rule not to lock bathroom doors just in case something happened, but Sam didn't really think he would have a seizure between now and five minutes from now. It was just for him to take a breather, get away for a minute. Besides, what door could possibly keep a pissed off Winchester out when said Winchester wanted in?

Somehow feeling better at that thought, that they would fight for his survival if the time came- and it did, multiple times-Sam got dressed, pulling his jeans over his hips and zipping them up, then throwing on a shirt and hoodie. Several years ago, he had actually hated hoodies, or any type of jacket for that matter; he felt like it hindered him somehow, made it harder to move or react quickly.

However, since four years ago, that's all he's been able to wear.

He involuntarily shuddered, but ignored it as he looked at himself in the mirror. He looked a little gaunt, being told many times that he was "too goddamn skinny"- Dean's words, not his- and that he needed to start eating more. He did eat, though; he ate healthy. Didn't he?

Sam digressed. Maybe he didn't eat _that _much, but it was enough to make it through the day, and that was good enough for him.

With one final look in the mirror, he opened the door and stepped out to see Dean and John in the same positions as before, sitting on the separate beds as they discussed the significant details for their hunt, the ones that actually decided life or death.

Sam's glad someone did it, he never really thought to.

He went and sat down, fully-clothed now, next to Dean. If he wanted to be honest with himself, Sam would have to admit he didn't like coming out of the shower with only a towel but, even since before..._it _happened, he had always gotten into the habit of doing so. Dean and John would have noticed something was different if he stopped. It was a small change, but a change nonetheless, and they were damn good at spotting things that didn't belong.

And that he just couldn't allow.

Dean shifted beside him, still facing his father. "We can't just go into a woman's house guns ablazing. We need a better plan than that" Dean said, sounding exasperated. Apparently it wasn't going through to his dad yet. "And besides, we don't even _know _if a gun can kill the bitch, silver bullets or not."

John sat across from Dean, debating. He appeared somewhat unhappy that he hadn't considered all the aspects but, reluctantly, he nodded. "You're right, son, we need to think of something else." He looked at Sam pointedly, his gaze condescending. "Do _you _have anything you would like to bring to the table for Dean and me?"

Sam inwardly noticed his father's lack of Sam in the equation of Winchesters, just Dean and John, but wisely chose to ignore it. He wracked his head for something that would make his father proud, make him surprised at how bright his youngest had grown up to be. "Well, Bloody Mary is lured to people who have secrets, right? Maybe we could get someone with a secret to speak in front of the mirror..."

It wasn't until Sam's mouth finally shut did he realize the error in his words. Yes, he wanted his father's gratitude, he had craved for it nearly all his life. But if John knew what had happened, that gratitude would be out the window. Sam closed his eyes tightly before opening them again. He couldn't let them know what had happened four years ago, not now, not ever, and he wouldn't let it happen. This was a cross he carried on his own terms, something he would very possibly deal with the rest of his life but was more than willing to do so as long as his father and brother were kept in the dark. This was a burden he had put on himself, and he planned to deal with the repercussions on his own.

Sam internally nodded, once again his mind completely absorbing the idea of secrecy.

John pondered Sam's idea and, for what seemed like nothing Sam had never been on the receiving end of, nodded his head with slight admiration. "Good idea, Sam, we just need to find someone with a secret." He paused, eyeing his two sons auspiciously, as if hoping one of them actually did have something to hide to make this hunt a little easier.

Dean shook his head vigorously when John's eyes landed on Dean, then they shifted over and met Sam's hopefully innocent-looking expression. Sam shook his head, not quite as enthusiastically as Dean. "No sir."

John nodded after a moment and heaved a sigh before standing up. "All right, we'll discuss this more in the morning." Sam watched John nervously as he continued. "If we plan to kill this bitch we gotta get someone with a secret."

Sam nearly crumpled from the impact of his father's words, but he somehow managed to stay upright during the worst of it. His head felt like it was spinning but he couldn't get it to stop, and he was scared the slightest shake would make it explode. Thankfully, John hadn't been too skimpy with the motel choice of the month and got them a two-bedroom motel room for once. One less person to deal with in the vicinity, that was something Sam would more than gladly take.

John headed to his room, shuffling inside then closing the door behind him, a gruff, barely audible "Night" passing as a goodbye. Dean didn't make a move, just continued to sit there beside Sam, still as a statue. Whether he was thinking or just not in the mood to get up Sam wasn't positive. He just sat there quietly with Dean, side-by-side, unsure if he should say something.

Dean suddenly sighed, turning to Sam and ruffling his hair before getting up, heading over to his duffel. Sam cocked an eyebrow but said nothing, choosing to watch Dean kick off his jeans and shirt. He lifted a white, thin undershirt over his head, his muscles rippling with the movement, and pulled it over his head. Dressed for the night, he turned to face Sam to see Sam looking at him, then smiled deviously. "What? You like what you see?"

Sam could feel his eye twitch, his only voluntarily offered response being a look of disgust and the finger. Dean smirked at the reply, going over to Sam with a few large steps and, before Sam knew it, was picking him up bridal style in his arms, carrying him over to his own bed. Sam shivered under Dean's touch indeliberately, his mind bringing him back to four years ago.

He cursed himself vehemently before the images went too far. This was _Dean _they were talking about, nothing was going to happen to him.

Dean had noticed the shiver, fortunately mistaking it for a chill. "You cold, little bro?" Sam continued fighting off Dean half-heartedly, his adolescent behavior far from amusing. Well, maybe it was a _little _bit. A small smile played lightly on his face, and he wished it hadn't, because Dean saw it before he could properly recover. Dean's smirk grew wider and, with his big arms, threw Sam precisely in the middle of the bed. Dean plopped beside him a second later, beginning to snuggle up against Sam dramatically. "We could get real cozy, you and I" he said mockingly, as if they were damn lovers. He petted Sam's hair jokingly and Sam swatted the hand away.

"Stop being immature, Dean, go to bed." Even he could hear the underlying tone in his voice, and Dean, thankfully, backed off. He was getting itchy, like an itch you can't scratch. Maybe Dean's mock behavior was just too similar...

Dean pouted. "Fine, little brother" he said, getting up and slipping into his own bed. "I see it, but let me tell you. This is not over. This is war."

Sam tried to roll his eyes dramatically, to where Dean could see it in the dark, but his heart just wasn't into it. "Sorry, Dean, I had really never considered an incestuous relationship before. Sounds new and exciting." Dean snorted and turned on his side away from Sam. Sam looked up at the ceiling, his heart aching. His mind just kept wanting to take him back to their new hunt. _With big secrets. _What if Dean or John decided to try and summon Bloody Mary without telling him? Then she'd go after someone close to them with a secret, someone like...Shit.

Sam, suddenly depressed, lay on his back staring at the ceiling until unconsciousness finally took him over into the void.

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ok, so i hope that was a good start for this story! let me know what you think!!!!!


	2. Chapter 2

ok, im back with this story, and i hope to finish this fanfic sometime soon. i felt really bad for completely abandoning it, and i know how it feels when an author just completely stops. it pisses me off, a lot. so here i am, hoping everybody doesnt hate me. if u have any comments, suggestions, criticism, curiosities, or just wanna talk, u can gladly IM, email, or review. if it requires it, i will be more than happy to respond ;)

i realize this chapter is kinda short, but i really wanted to get something up. next one will be long, i promise!

heres chapter 2,

**ENJOY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!**

Sam awoke to Dean and John murmuring quietly to each other, their discernible voices distinct but actual words garbled and seemingly distant. Sam grunted softly, blinking his eyes a couple of times in hopes of adjusting to the meager light centered in front of the bed. He sat up on his elbows, still groggy with sleep, and found them at a small table in the corner of the room, their eyes focused sternly on an article of newspaper, Dean hovering over John's shoulder for a better view. By their faces, Sam wondered if a friend of theirs had died in a tragic accident, but he quickly decided against voicing it. They might get pissed off for being so pessimistic, saying that their "friend's death" wasn't something to play around with, and it was just too damn early for that.

He tossed the sordid sheets off his possibly too-thin frame, and got up, gingerly making his way over to his brother and father. "What are y'all looking at?" he asked, rubbing a hand over his eyes sleepily.

Dean and John looked up abruptly, as if so engrossed in the newspaper they hadn't noticed the hush shuffling of feet as he made their way toward them. Dean replaced his frown with a too-bright, somewhat fake smile, grabbing Sam around the neck in greeting.

"Hey there Sammy, how'd you sleep? Not too bad, I hope" he said playfully, his arm around Sam's neck tightening a fraction in good humor.

Sam smiled half-heartedly, ready for them to just tell him the bad news already. It wasn't like he was 12, too young to be told anything agonizing yet too old to be kept in the dark. He mentally braced himself for the worst, but continued with Dean's gibe. "Just fine, Dean. Hope your bed wasn't too cold without me, but you know how it is" he said, shrugging lightly, "You just gotta go your own way."

Dean laughed, his stretched smile more genuine. Dean replied more physically than verbally, the arm around Sam's neck pushing him down as Dean ran his fingers wildly through Sam's hair, thrashing them all over his head until Sam escaped Dean's grasp at last. Sam's hair, much to his anguish, was a mess. Without delay, he began the task of flattening it down, even ridding himself of a small knot at the back of his neck. Dean laughed uncontrollably all the while, but John's stern "Boys" had them both stopping, turning their direct attention on their father.

Sam watched Dean as he caught glimpse of the newspaper, and he saw Dean's cheery mood visibly deflate. Sam turned to John and gave him a questioning look.

John sighed heavily. "Dean and I have been reading the paper, and it seems like 3 other people have been killed by Mary."

Sam rose an eyebrow in question, but it soon came to him, as if his mind was reminding him on its own accord. _Bloody Mary. _Sam gulped, thankfully not brought to the attention of Dean or his father. _They're gonna want to jump on this. They're gonna find someone with a secret, and soon. _Sam couldn't help another gulp roll down his throat as he watched his father almost frantically.

"Well, what are we gonna do now?" Sam racked his brain fervently for another option, but he just couldn't find another alternative other than the obvious. "We could salt and burn her bones. Was she buried?"

John shook his head. "I did some research in the library this morning and, evidently, she was cremated in a town near here. I checked out the place, but there was nothing of interest. It couldn't be there," he mused, "It must be somewhere else."

Sam absently wondered how early John had to have gotten up if he had gone to a whole other town in one morning. He looked over to the dusty, beat up clock hanging on the wall. _12:36. _Damn, he'd slept late. Why hadn't they woke him up? The scheduled wake-up time was 7:00, sometimes even 6:00.

Sam situated himself back into the conversation as Dean piped in. "Well, she gets her victims through mirrors, right? Maybe she has no pattern and she's just hopping from mirror to mirror."

"But only getting people with secrets," Sam muttered, feeling suddenly dejected. Dean nodded, looking as if he somehow forgot that part. _That was the most important part, _Sam thought.

John said, adding everything up for them, "So, if you say Bloody Mary 3 times in front of a mirror and have a secret or know someone that has a secret, then she comes after you."

Dean nodded. "So what do we do?"

Sam's mood was just plummeting further and further into depression as the morning went on. _Could this day get any worse? _

Probably.

****

Dean and Sam stepped out of the Impala nearly simultaneously and met in front of the black Chevy. Sam sat himself lightly on the hood, making himself comfortable. Dean automatically stood in front of him, out of protection or instinct Sam wasn't sure, seemingly deep in thought. John had said they should look around town for people that could _possibly _have a secret until he "thought of something better". Sam was under the impression their current idea wasn't super great, -actually, was pretty bad- but he didn't have the will or the guts to say _that_to their father. That'd be the ultimate blasphemy. If John knew he was against his dominant, entirely superior rule, the act of disowning would be in effect.

He only hoped he was exaggerating.

And truthfully, though he knew his mind was just feeding to his fears, he couldn't help but wonder. Would John _think _of disowning Sam if he felt it'd be better for John himself. He had known for a long time Dean was the favorite, it wasn't a big secret or anything, but surely he still _loved _Sam, just not to the same extent as Dean. Or was Sam's mind just befuddled and confused, and they were both loved equally? He never knew.

Sam watched Dean broke out of his trance, stilling keeping quite a serious look on his face as he turned to face Sam. Sam inwardly cringed, fighting down the urge to wriggle out of his gaze.

Dean stepped a little closer to Sam, no humor in his voice. "Are you hiding anything, Sam? Do you have any secrets I may need to know about?"

Sam seemed to be pushed off balance from the abrupt question, and he would have fallen off the Impala if not for his brother's strong grip. He hoisted him, not roughly, back onto the Impala, his gaze still questioning and stern.

"I need to know, Sam. If this plan doesn't work, and I doubt it will, Dad will summon Bloody Mary himself. And..." Dean paused, possibly trying to let his words sink in or to give himself time to rid all the images from his mind as to what could happen if Sam _did _have a secret. "If you get hurt from some stupid secret." Dean shook his head, his voice suddenly growing in strength. "I won't let it happen."

He looked Sam firmly in the eyes, and Sam felt his walls crumble. _Oh no, Dean's gonna know. He can't find out, and I can't do anything about it. _What would Dean think of Sam if he found out what that man did to him, that he was too weak to stop it?

Dean seemed to sense Sam's hesitation and continued on, more determined than ever. "Sammy, I need to know if you're hiding something. You have to tell me. Do you have a secret? A secret that _matters_?"

Dean could very obviously sense Sam's undeniable secret, and he seemed to see others aspects as well. Sam could almost _hear_ Dean's thoughts: _How could Sam lie to me? What is he not telling me? How could he do this? What is he hiding? _However, the condemnation and disappoint Dean _should_ have felt wasn't there, Sam's concern rose when he saw Dean's face, full of worry and concern. He patted his thumb across Sam's smooth cheek lightly, and only then did Sam realize a lone tear had made it's way down his face. It brought Sam out of his dream-like trance in a instant, and he slapped Dean's hand away, jumping off the hood of the Impala. He made a dash down the street, narrowly skidding around a speeding car that had come in his direction. He could hear Dean's footsteps by now, the shock of his brother's mad escape catching up with him, and Sam knew he probably wouldn't last long now. The last race he had with his brother was around a year ago, and Dean had beaten him by nearly 20 yards. Sam hoped he had grown in speed, but he couldn't be too sure.

Sam scarcely dodged the group of people crowding the sidewalk, muttering expletives at them all the while, and from behind he heard Dean _shouting _his expletives, using curse words even George Patton would look up and take notice to. Sam could sense Dean's fiery resolution and, even if Sam _was _faster, who says he has more stamina? More endurance? Dean would beat him for sure. Sam huffed in annoyance and shame. How could he be so stupid and expect to out-run _Dean?_ He mentally smacked himself, multiple times for good measure, and considered just stopping, let Dean bring hell on him and...and then what? Tell Dean his secret? No, that was not an option, never was. Maybe he could find a way around it, or tell Dean a false secret, or just not the big one.

Sam's stomach churned at the idea of telling Dean, telling Dean how badly he'd fucked up.

That thought alone gave him the extra energy to keep going, his adrenaline only fueling him more. He couldn't let him find out. His vision began to blur, and he felt something cold stream down his cheek. He swiped it away hastily, hating himself for yet another weakness on his part.

He felt the footsteps behind him grow louder, closer, and he discovered, to his abject horror, that he wouldn't be getting out of this. What did he expect to get himself away from? Dean? His past? He was so stupid; Dean was only trying to help, but he pushed him away. But if he found out...

He ended up running himself into a forest. He turned around, Dean hot on his heels but never gaining any more ground. Sam inwardly wondered if Dean was hanging back to see if Sam would give himself up. Was he waiting for Sam to do something loyal for once? Hoping Sam would make a better decision than ones of late? Sam's heart shattered a little more, absolutely detesting the idea of pain and sadness running through Dean's veins.

Sam felt his feet fall out from under him, and it was only until he was laying flat on the floor did he realize he'd tripped on a branch. Fear shot through him, knowing Dean had been hot on his heels.

His conscious spoke correctly, and a second later he felt Dean flipping him over onto his back and straddling his legs, this time making sure escape was impossible. They were both breathing heavily from the exertion. Sam gulped loudly, and he waited for Dean's reign of evil to come pouring down on him. A tear fell down his cheek, but it went unnoticed as he continued to watch Dean, waiting for him to snap. It was only a matter of time before Sam's secret slipped and he'd truly be all alone.

***

hope yall liked it!! im really glad i decided to continue this story! hope u guys get me some feedback, i wanna know how it was and if i should continue. until next time!! ;)

HOPE YOU GUYS ENJOYED!!!


	3. Chapter 3

_**Luv Ya like I love my pet fish Fluffy!!!!!! **_  
P.S.- I don't have a pet fish!!! **=O**

im soo sorry peeps!! my sister came back from Duke University for thanksgiving break and i hadnt gotten to see her in 3 months so i just HAD to stay with her. however, she left again today, so its quite sad. :(  
also, i have exams in 2 weeks, so that may also cause a small delay in the updating of this story.

_and before you go, this is my most important author's note!!!! if any of you know how to find the circumcenter or incenter of a triangle or how to properly use the empirical formula when given percentage composition LET ME KNOW! my soul needs assistance! thank u for ur time_ :)

there may be several errors because i have no beta so, if there are, my apologies

hope u like it!!!!!

**ENJOY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!**

**____________________  
**

They stayed like that for a long time; Dean seemingly unsure how to react now that he had Sam under his control and Sam too scared to move out from under him for fear of Dean's wrath.

When it finally seemed like Dean was about to do something, or say something at the very least, a shrill tone of "Highway to Hell" came ablazing into the previous quiet, the irony Sam saw in the song title not too comical, and it was seconds later when Sam realized it was Dean's cell. Dean just stayed where he was, his legs straddling Sam's legs and hands placed on either side of Sam's head, and Sam wondered if he was actually planning to answer it. Sam begged for him to answer it, to allow him the distraction he needed, not necessarily to come up with another escape plan, but to find a plausible excuse for his tactic of running away like a chicken with his head cut off. However, even Sam knew no phone call could be left unanswered. If John had been calling, and he had run into trouble...

Dean, keeping his eyes on Sam throughout the entire ordeal, moved his hand silently and swiftly into his back pocket and slipped his phone out. Looking briefly at caller ID, he flipped his phone open unceremoniously and answered with a gruff "Hello".

Sam watched him silently, slightly annoyed at only getting half the conversation. Oh god, what was he supposed to do now? The one, true mistake he had made that related to the very thing he'd been trying so hard to keep, and now there was no going back. Dean was going to find out now, and there was nothing he could do about it.

The best thing he could do now was delay it.

And he planned to, greatly.

"Dad, I don't think that'd a good idea. Maybe we should hold off going after Mary-"

Sam rose an eyebrow. Apparently John found her location, a probable one, and wanted them to check it out.

"No, I'm serious about this," Dean said, sighing loudly, his irritations obviously not only with Sam. Of course, Dean's annoyance with Dad had been Sam's doing. Here Dean was, trying to save Sam's ass _again_ because, if they went after Bloody Mary themselves, and one of them called for her...

Oh shit. Sam closed his eyes tightly, his eyes watering slightly. He knew Dean was going to do everything he could to save him, that went without saying, but what if it wasn't good enough? Maybe this was karma. He deserved this, didn't he?

He opened his eyes up and noticed Dean was staring at him, his eyes portraying the deep well of sadness buried in them. Sam was causing Dean so much pain..

"All right, Dad, fine. But I'll call for Mary. Wait for us to get there." He hung up quickly and slid his phone back in his pocket. Dean watched Sam sadly, obviously wanting to say something. Sam's lip trembled, his mouth working so hard to just _apologize. _He was screwing everything up, _everything, _and he didn't have the words or the courage to admit it.

Dean got up from on top of Sam and stood, offering Sam a hand. Hesitantly, he took it and was easily pulled up into a standing position. Dean led them out of the forest and took them back to the Impala. Sam was glad one of them knew where the hell they were, because he hadn't been thinking well enough to take note of where exactly he'd been running to.

After several minutes, the black Chevy was in sight, and Sam wanted to make a mad dash toward it, the reasons behind it still unknown. He just didn't feel safe in his own skin anymore, and now that Dean knew he was hiding something from him, it was so much worse. He cringed, huddling that little bit more into his hoodie, waiting and begging for the safety of the Impala.

Once there, Sam almost eagerly made a move for the passenger door but, right before contact, Dean appeared in front of him, face serious and very nearly stoic. However good at hiding emotions Dean was, Sam could still see the tremor of worry going through him, that twitch he had when he was absolutely terrified. It didn't occur often and, when it did, Sam could only hope he'd read the signs wrong.

Dean grabbed his shoulders and pulled him toward the Impala, making him slightly lean on the passenger door. Sam couldn't keep eye contact for long before darting his gaze to a random pedestrian, or dog that had escaped the grip of it's owner. All these people, busy though they were, were happy, genuinely happy. Sam envied them so much, if he could just be more like them, more like Dean.

Sam felt a strong hand being placed under his chin as it tilted his head upward, his gaze undoubtedly falling upon Dean's. Sam gulped slighter louder than anticipated and, by their proximity, he had no doubt in his mind that Dean heard it, too.

Dean blinked sadly, darting his eyes for half a second before bringing them back on Sam. "Damn it, Sammy." He sounded almost a little choked up, and Sam stood statuette still, as if practicing the art of Zen. _Be one with the car. _Dean's bottom lip trembled for words, but all that came out was garbled and hushed.

Dean let go of Sam's chin and Sam looked down, quickly looking back up in fear of Dean's anger. "Dean, look, I'm so sorry. I-"

"Sam." Dean gulped, a protective barrier or forcefield of some sort coming up over his face, deflecting and ridding all emotions. "I wanna know what happened. What are you keeping from me?"

The once unshed tears broke their way out in excess, trailing down his cheek before Sam had time to wipe them away. Dean no doubt saw them, just clarifying further how fucked Sam was. He gazed away, too frightened to look him in the eye.

"Listen, Dean, it's really not important-"

He stopped when, in his peripheral vision, he saw Dean clench his fists tightly, visibly seething with anger.

"Goddamn it, Sam, don't you _dare _tell me it's not important." Dean bit his lip, hard enough to draw blood, and breathed deep breaths a few moments before continuing, "If there's something you're not telling me, how the hell am I supposed to protect you from it?" he asked nearly inaudibly. "So here's what we're gonna do. You're going to tell me _right now _what you're hiding and by God, I _swear, _you won't be going anywhere till you tell me, so I suggest you start talking." Dean crossed his arms over his chest, resolute, and Sam's defenses crumbled. There were no options left. Dean would detect any lie Sam put into play and any other, less trivial secrets he had left (such as a B- on a math quiz) weren't big enough for Bloody Mary to come after him for.

Sam again looked away from Dean's intense gaze, keeping his eyes on his feet. "You won't tell Dad, will you?" He asked, his eyes feeling watery.

He could sense Dean's near palpable perplexity, but didn't dare look up, content with toeing at a small rock on the ground. "No, I won't, Sammy."

Sam nodded, still unsure. The biggest, most degrading secret was about to be known to the world and he didn't know what to do with himself. He brought his hands to his face, ashamed and embarrassed. "Dean, do I have to tell you now? Please not now," he said, choking on a sob.

Sam's near breakdown must have alarmed Dean way more than he'd ever let on and, in an instant, warm arms were engulfing Sam's trembling body. Sam snuggled in closer, as if by instinct, his hands gripping weakly at Dean's jacket.

"You're okay, Sammy. Nothing will have to you. I promise." Sam nodded into his jacket, to a large degree aware of Dean's loyalty and love. Dean's always protected him, would sacrifice himself a million times over for him. But, when Dean finally learnt of Sam's shameful secret, how would he react? Would he spit on him, curse him, _laugh? _Sam sniffled, hundreds of different ways Dean could hurt him smoldering themselves into his head, leaving a stark reminder of the ashamed, hateful Dean he would see if the truth got out.

Sam let go of his vice-like grip on Dean's jacket, a little embarrassed and, yes, very ashamed. Just one more sign of weakness he could live without.

Dean raised his hand to the back of Sam's head and lightly played with the tips of his hair. "You ready, kid?" Sam could hear the anguish in Dean's voice, his concern for Sam always preceding his need for answers. Sam was overjoyed by the concept.

"Yeah. Sorry" Sam replied, dabbing away any tear remnants of his breakdown.

Dean shook his head. "Don't apologize." Dean gave him a sad smile, Sam returning it mutually, and each went to their respective locations in the Impala. They drove out of the lot and, according to Dean (who was told by John), they were heading to a large, slightly rundown house, currently occupied by an elderly couple and soon-to-be furious Bloody Mary. Sam, thinking back on it, wasn't sure how John had discovered Mary's next victim's location, but it was good enough for him. He just wanted this hunt _over. _

They drove up to the house, or what was supposedly labeled as such, and parked behind John's massive black truck. Looking at the house again, it was obvious there wasn't a thing in sight that could stop Bloody Mary from getting in if she wanted in; not that much would stop her in the first place.

John walked to up to the Impala as they climbed out and, facing Dean, said, "Alright, so I think the best route to take this Bloody Mary bitch down would be to destroy the mirror she manifests in." He hands Dean a shotgun, then turns to Sam. "Just stay behind your brother, Sam. I don't want you mistaking one of us for Mary."

Sam, hopefully tear-ridden by now, gaped, his mouth hanging open in sadness and what felt like contempt. How could John think Sam would make such a fatal mistake? Hadn't he been trained from the best, or was he still just a novice despite his trainer's high capabilities? Sam looked down in shame, only allowing himself the faintest glance in Dean's direction. He appeared surprised as well, his face glowing red with barely concealed anger as his fists were clenched tightly by his sides. His mouth hung open, as if to say something, then snapped it closed. He took Sam by the hand and led him into the house behind John, who had already made it to the front door.

"Okay, the couple occupying this house should be gone no more than two hours, so we gotta get in then get out," John said, his gun cocked and in position.

The only response he got were nods of the head, and that was apparently all he expected as he burst through the door, his eyes tracing over everything in search of a mirror. The boys followed in, Sam bare-handed behind Dean. Dean, if anything, seemed extremely tense. Usually on hunts he was relaxed and in control, but this time was just so out of the norm for him. _Oh, that's right, he knows you've got a goddamn secret and that Bloody Mary will come after you when she finds out. _Sam mentally slapped himself, shame and chagrin once again covering his features. How was he going to be able to fix this? Show Dean it didn't matter? Because of Sam's stupidity, Dean was off his game and it would be all his fault if something happened to him.

John signaled them to take the stairs as he searched the first floor, and they slowly traveled their way up single file, hesitant when a wooden step would creak beneath them.

When they reached the top of the stairs, Dean grabbed loosely onto the sleeve of Sam's shirt, making sure Sam was still very much alive and present. Sam permitted it, happy his brother still cared about his well-being despite his unworthiness and unreliability. They passed into a small bedroom to find a full length mirror placed at the foot of the bed, and Sam watched it uneasily, feeling Dean tense beside him. He pulled Sam closer to his side, their hips nearly plastered together, and then something indiscernible began to come into being inside the mirror, some anonymous, unknown entity. Sam, feeling naked without any weaponry, latched lightly onto the hem of Dean's shirt, just for something to occupy himself with. _It's okay, _he kept telling himself. _Dean can handle this. He knows what he's doing._

As stated in his thoughts, Dean shot the mirror dead on, the image of the woman shattering along with the shards of glass falling to the floor noisily. Seconds later, they heard John's heavy footsteps making their way up the stairs, and they turned around to see his entrance into the room. He came in, instantly noting the broken mirror.

"You got her?" he asked Dean.

Dean shrugged. "I think so. Is that really all we have to do? Shoot the mirror?"

John nodded. "I believe so, kid. Good job," he said proudly, patting him on the shoulder in approval.

Dean smiled half-heartedly, as if no longer warmed by his father's admiration, and responded, devoid of emotion. "Thanks, Dad."

Sam watched him a moment longer, and Dean still seemed a little uncertain on Mary's fate. The job itself hadn't taken very long, was actually pretty easy, but that's just the problem: no hunt was easy for the Winchesters. Sam found himself questioning their quick success. Was it actually over?

John led them downstairs as they followed along, Dean's grip on Sam's shirt not once breaking it's hold. Sam wondered if Dean even realized he was still holding on.

John stopped for a moment and turned to face Sam. "Oh, could you get my gun from the kitchen, Sammy? I kinda dropped it when I came to get you guys," he said rather sheepishly.

Sam nodded, somehow annoyed that his father had called him by Dean's nickname.

Dean tightened his grip on Sam's shirt as he tried for the kitchen. "I'll go with you, Sa-".

John shook his head adamantly . "No, Dean, he can do it himself. You don't need to do everything for the damn boy. He needs to learn to be more independent."

Sam knew better than anything that he _was _independent, independent as hell, but didn't voice it, despite his brain's disapproval. He'd just getting himself into an even bigger pile of shit.

Dean also realized John's faltering mishap, fully aware Sam was one of the most independent people he'd ever met, but John's harsh hand movements, urging Dean to the door, stopped him from responding. He turned to Sam once more, his gaze imploring as his hand slipped from Sam's shirt. "Are you sure, Sammy?"

Sam tried for a smile, his expression hopefully feigning humor. "It's okay, Dean. I'm just picking up a damn gun off the floor. I'll be fine."

He said this but, in his gut, he wasn't so sure. It was a weird feeling, full of doubt and uncertainty. Sam inwardly shook his head. His conscience was just being weird, he'd be fine.

Dean nodded, finally accepting John's invitation to wait in the car, and Sam set out to the kitchen. It was pretty rundown as well, the chairs aged and the countertops heavy with scrapes. He looked around, desperate to get out of the house, in search of John's lost gun. Not seeing anything, he got on all fours and looked under the table. Nothing.

Sam huffed a sigh of annoyance and traveled further into the kitchen, making it to the entrance of a small bathroom. Opening the door, he found the discarded gun on the floor. Smiling, Sam picked it up, suddenly eager.

As he was turning to go back to the kitchen, he heard a faint clicking sound. He turned around, his eyes glazed in fear, and was met face-to-face with Bloody Mary in the flesh, her pale skin and darkly smudged eyes making her all the more menacing. He had barely lifted his gun before she was flinging it across the room, under the kitchen table. She grabbed him roughly by the collar, a malicious smile etched into her features.

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alright, hope yall liked that!! i made it a little longer in hopes youll forgive me for my huge delays. lemme know if i should continue!!

and yes, the next chapter should be a lot more exciting, if any of you have been kind of bored as of late...i hope its not too bad, but you never know...never know unless you get FEEDBACK! :D

hope u enjoyed!!

UNTIL NEXT TIME


	4. Chapter 4

hello everyone!! sorry i havent updated in a while! ive been quite sickly and this annoying doctor thinks i have the flu (not swine though, i had that a few months ago). I also have strep throat apparently, and i have no idea if i could have both flu and strep at the same time.  
sounds weird, but hey, im not the doctor.

but anywaaayyyyy, hope you all enjoy this next chapter. should hopefully be a little better than the others, despite my ill soul :)

ENJOY!!!!!!!

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Dean sat in the drivers' seat of the Impala while John went back to his black truck, impatiently tapping his fingers rapidly along the window sill. He had a very bad feeling about the destruction of Bloody Mary, especially since Sam was in the same place she was haunting. A hunt had never been as easy as it was now_, never_. They were Winchesters, and every good thing that came to them was instantly overcome by misfortune and excruciating effort. The small tingling in his gut, slowly growing louder and more prominent, let him know something was wrong.

He looked toward the rundown house again, as if hoping Sam would suddenly appear with a bright smile on his face, laughing at Dean for being so anxious. He would have accepted that more than anything right now, taken it in with welcome arms, no matter how embarrassing. No such thing happened, however, and a second later a booming, shattering crash went off in the interior of the building, and before he knew it Dean was slamming the door of the Impala--the protection of his car be damned-- and dashed toward the house without a second thought. John had only slammed the door of his monster truck and Dean was already bursting through the large house, gun at the ready. Another crash resonated throughout the house, and Dean flashed his eyes left and right in frantic search of his baby brother.

------------------

Sam lay in a large pile of wood full of splinters, the few fragments of the table that were left. He looked at Bloody Mary with disdain and hatred, his Winchester pride much too high for him to give up so easily. He lifted himself from the trashed remnants, already feeling the small splinters in his hands and neck along with a few bruises and scratches he was much too aware of on his back. He pushed his pain back and, always showing some cleverness on such hunts, kept Bloody Mary in his peripheral vision as he looked desperately for John's dropped gun. Bloody Mary disappeared a moment later, and he gasped as she grabbed onto the collar of his shirt and flung him into the kitchen counter and, yes, was made of wood. He groaned, already detesting this house and shitty appliances, painfully sliding off the counter and onto the floor. He slowly rolled onto his back and looked back at the now-smashed table, his memory jogging to remember where Mary had flung it. Under what's left of the table?

A new destination in mind and his hope renewed, Sam scurried quickly toward the broken pieces, seeing too much effort in getting up to only get back down soon after. He didn't see Bloody Mary anywhere, and he wasn't sure how to feel about that. Worried or relieved? His goal was so near, however, and he temporarily threw any thoughts of Bloody Mary and kept his sights on the sole focus of the strength he'd feel from the idea of finally having a weapon to defend himself.

His hopes were suddenly crushed as Bloody Mary made her appearance, appearing in front of him and crouching to meet him until they were eye-to-eye. Her grim features turned even grimmer as she looked at him intensely, as if looking into his soul and ripping it to shreds.

Sam began to feel short of breath as something slid from his eyes to roll slowly down his cheeks. It was thick and viscous, and Sam wondered when tears had ever felt so heavy before.

He gasped as more pain came haunting back, his splinters and bruises forgotten. Bloody Mary watched him intently, her gaze full of hatred.

"How could you kill those men?" she asked, her voice ominous and menacing. "They wanted to help, to make you famous, and you pushed them aside and _killed _them." She growled, roughly grabbing his neck and pulling him up until his feet swayed weakly off the floor.

Sam pushed at her arms weakly, his gaze already beginning to blur, and not only from lack of oxygen. The tears that were dripping down his face, they were too much, and all he could see, for some reason, was red. Red as deep as...blood. He let out a small cry of frustration, angered at his own vulnerability, but remained restrained from the groping fingers tightening around his neck.

Bloody Mary's venomous gaze grew even harder as she spoke sharply, "Now you must be punished."

Sam's grip on her arms weakened, and they were forced to hang limp by his sides as he waited for black. He heard two faint pairs of feet crashing on the floor in the direction of the kitchen, and he allowed himself to remain blissfully ignorant, just wait for unconsciousness to take over. If there were 3 Bloody Marys he'd have to deal with, he could do without that information.

Right when he was on his last string of consciousness, shots rang out and her grasp was abruptly released, causing him to fall to the floor, dazed and confused. The strange, thick tears dribbled down his chin and onto the floor and he slowly felt his eyes begin to close. He didn't know why Bloody Mary had stopped, maybe to meet up with her other Mary friends before combining forces against him, but his will was growing weak. He closed his eyes and, this time, they stayed closed.

-----------------

Sam moaned lightly, already feeling the horrid beginnings of consciousness take him back to the real world. And, worse yet, with consciousness came pain, and he suddenly hissed as he remembered that when his back brushed against something hard and warm. It reminded him of their motel beds, hard but still allowing slumber, and he still wondered if he was, instead, on those splintered residuals of wood again. He wouldn't be surprised. A horde of vicious Marys could do a lot of damage. It was hardly a horde, albeit, but it might as well have been.

He heard soft encouragements whispering in his ear and, in his confusion, opened his eyes bewildered. He was back in their most recent motel, that same picture of a llama grazing in a field of grass hung up over the small table. And, with a slight turn of his gaze, what he saw instead of Bloody Mary, was his big brother and, in the background, his father.

"...Dean?...Dad?" he asked, puzzled. How the hell did he get here?

Dean smiled lightly in response, his hand playing with strands of Sam's hair as if he'd been doing it the entire time. "Hey Sammy, you okay?"

Sam nodded, not really sure what else to say. He looked one split-second at John's facial expression then instantly turned back to Dean's face in fear. John was furious, and not just because Sam was hurt. Bloody Mary had went after him, which, Sam remembered, meant he had a secret. John probably realized that the second he went into the kitchen (Sam had finally convinced himself that there couldn't be 3 Bloody Marys in the same place.)

Dean noticed Sam's apprehensive expression and watched him comfortingly, as if trying to say he'd protect Sam, even if it had to be from their father. Sam nodded in gratitude, a small smiled returning to his face.

Feeling John's ever-malignant gaze he felt the urge to squirm away from his hard eyes. He made a sudden move to sit up, then hissed quietly as his body screamed in pain. Dean tried to push him back onto the bed, but Sam fought it lightly. "I'm fine, seriously." Dean reluctantly obliged, gently pulling him into a sitting position, as if handling a small, injured bird not yet ready for flight.

With Sam's small improvement, John felt the need to make himself known, stepping forward until he was on the other side of Sam's bed. Sam gulped, suddenly self-conscious, and he discreetly allowed his long hair to cover his eyes. John noticed, obviously, and, in an instant, was tugging at Sam's hair, a little too similarly to Bloody Mary, until they were face-to-face, John looking down on him.

John growled, his voice rising. "Why did Bloody Mary come after you, Sam? What are you hiding from us that's so damn important?"

Sam trembled, this entire fiasco with Bloody Mary somehow making him forget that, now that John and Dean knew he had a secret, they'd force it out of him. They couldn't...if he told anyone...Sam felt the strongest urge he's ever felt to just run out the door and never come back. It's not like they would want him anyway once they found out.

John shook him a little too roughly, and Dean quickly rounded the bed until he was beside John, his malevolence not exactly concealed. "Stop it, Dad, you're hurting him, damn it!" Sam sat there on the bed, dazed and dumbfounded to see Dean actually disagreeing so strongly with something John was doing. Sure, Dean's defended him when he needed a hand, or three, but never with such emphasis and_ never _with expletives.

John didn't react to Dean's words other than a sharp glance before crudely letting go of Sam's hair. Sam felt the urge to caress his abused head, but held it down. Now was not a safe place to be taking care of wounds inflicted upon by family members in the same vicinity.

John, his voice never softening, continued to stare at Sam with hatred and maliciousness. "How could you hide something from us? We're your goddamn family!" He grabbed a chair from against the wall, violently turned it around, and sat facing the backside of the chair, his arms resting on the top. "Bloody Mary only goes after those that _kill _people. So, until you tell us _exactly _what happened you're not going anywhere, so get comfortable."

Sam reflexively tightened his muscles as he watched John's bull-like face, instinctively backing further into the headrest of the bed, then Dean's sad, guilty expression. _Dean shouldn't feel guilty_, Sam thought inquisitively, angry with himself, _this was all my fault._

Sam gulped, nodding to his father. Dad was right. He was probably the worst person on the fucking planet to hide something so big from his family, his _only _thinking. Who did he think he was?

Dean must be so disappointed.

"I was eleven," Sam started and, from the peripheral, he saw Dean's brows furrow, knowing that it was around that age number that Dean did everything with him, to keep a watch on him and make sure he didn't do anything stupid, _like kill someone_. It wasn't necessarily something Dean had been expecting, but if you were going to play the role of big brother, you had to see _all _the aspects, even the improbable ones. John's face, on the other hand, held no emotion and remained completely passive, waiting for him to continue.

Sam looked down at the sheets over his legs, fidgeting with the frayed edges. "We were in Connecticut, I think, and there were these group of bullies that'd always pick on me. They were eighteen or sixteen, maybe both. I don't remember." Sam shrugged lightly, acting like it was no big deal. He saw Dean nod angrily, remembering the times Sam would come home with a bloody nose or bruised arms and legs from those four bastards. Sam was outnumbered and too young to be a real threat against all of them, despite his training. His hands tightened to fists, but he said nothing, eager to hear what was next.

Sam swallowed hard, hoping a vortex would open out from under him and send him to another dimension, where he was alone and isolated form the rest of the world. Waiting for something, _anything _he could serve as a distraction, and finding nothing, he continued with trembling lips. "And one day, I was walking home. Dean had been too sick to come to school and I managed to convince him I could go by myself for one day."

Dean frowned deeply, nearly shaking with self-condemnation. Sam wanted to tell him it wasn't his fault, that it was all because of Sam's idiocy, but he had to keep going. If he didn't do it now, he may never do it.

"They followed me again that day, but took it a step further than usual. They beat me up for a good while and, when I couldn't fight back anymore, one of them picked me up and...they took me to one of their motel rooms." Sam huffed in a deep breath, his voice trembling and entire body quivering with shame and depression. He didn't even take the time to look at his only family's expressions in fear of their condemning and condescending looks, though he did hear a few loud gasps of indignation and chagrin. _At him._ He continued, his head down, humiliated and degraded. He was a disgrace to the Winchester name.

"They pulled off my clothes and chained my hands to the headrest, blindfolded me too. I fought so hard," he said shaking his head, his eyes feeling watery. "It just wasn't enough." He allowed himself a pause to give himself a chance to rehabilitate, wiping away a tear that had silently made it's way down his cheek. Shattered though he was, the repairing it could take for him to mend was achievable, Sam could admit that much. But when his family disowned him and threw him out in the streets, then he knew he'd be truly broken.

He continued to tremble violently, his hands fisting against the thin sheets like iron. He gave a malicious smile, seemingly teetering toward insanity. "I could hear them laughing. I could hear their..cries of excitement as they took pictures of me..." He threw his hands over his face, his smile leaving his face as soon as it had come. "A few days later we had moved to Delaware. I stole Dean's laptop that night. I found the pictures they took and...and it wouldn't let me delete them." He cried out, his breaking point making itself known as he burst to tears, all the water leaking out from his body. "Oh God, this is all my fault."

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hope yall liked it!!!!! the next chapter youll find out who and how he killed someone!!! its not there yet :P

and actually that was pretty hard to do, the topic for Sam quite painful and i hoped i related that okay and, not only that, now that im done i have a serious headache :( i cant read too much when im sick so the quality may not be super awesome as well, but i finished it for you guys so i seriously hoped u enjoyed. if you have any comments, criticisms, questions, recommendations, or just wanna talk about the weather lemme know. im right here, buds

UNTIL NEXT TIME!!!! :D


	5. Chapter 5

i want to apologize for not updating in such a long time. a lot of stuff has been going on, and my life is basically up a creek..i think my mood may be trickling into this chapter, cuz its a bit dark. im really sorry for not responding to any of the messages people have been sending me to continue this. yall and the readers are the only reason im finishing this, all of you, so thank you. this may be my last fanfic, merely because im tired of letting people down when i dont update in 2 months. its really depressing. (though, i could probably do one-shots since they're only one chapter.) this fanfic should be almost done though so, enjoy.

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Sam didn't know how to react now that they knew, knew the painful secret he'd kept inside for nearly four years. On TV dramas it always appeared that letting something off your chest was relieving, now that you weren't being anchored into the ocean by guilt and resentment. Sam was beginning to see how wrong Hollywood was and always has been; he didn't feel relieved by any means. It felt more like a whirlpool beating against his anchor, sucking him into the vortex of the loneliness he would no doubt continue to feel when his only family threw him out onto the streets.

He moaned into his palms, his cries growing louder with every second that passed, hoping the guilt would somehow kill him just so he wouldn't have to deal with Dean's indignant, condemning looks. John's he could deal with- hell, he's been dealing with them all his life- but Dean's...no, he couldn't take that look of hatred from his only brother. He couldn't.

Something warm and inviting wrapped around his body, and he wasn't sure if it was a person or death itself. He'd gladly take the latter. His secret was out, and there was nothing he could do to make the truth go away.

He heard strangely soothing words reverberating frighteningly close to his ear, but he didn't have the will or the strength to listen to their words; just the assuaging, alluring voice kept him sane, kept him in the moment. It was a peaceful voice, laced with something akin to agony. Sam hiccuped, cuddling nearer into whatever was making the voices come to life. Was this Dean talking in his ear? Was he so angry with Sam that he was physically pained with his baby brother's stupidity?

Sam impulsively pulled back from the voice, abruptly unclenching his hands from the body's clothing and pulling them straight to his sides. They didn't need to see more weakness on his part. He needed to show them he was stronger now, that he wasn't the same weak, 11 year old failure he was not so long ago.

He felt another bigger, heavier presence moving closer, sitting at the edge of the bed, but didn't open his eyes, knowing all too well what he'd see if he opened them--John's belittling and reproaching glare.

A warm hand was placed lightly against his cheek, a careful finger rubbing lightly under his eye, trying to open them. Cautiously, Sam opened them, unsure if he even wanted to. He could see Dean sitting beside him on the bed, his hand on Sam's face, tears spilling in excess from his eyes. He looked older, Dean, to an extent that scared Sam more than he wanted to admit. Was he so disappointed that it would take such a toll on him, that it'd make him _cry. _Dean doesn't cry, never has, so why was he doing so now?

Sam looked down, not even allowing a glance at John, his vision getting blurry again. He wiped his eyes hastily, not exactly careful when he threw off Dean's hand from his cheek. He didn't seem offended, just moved it to pat his back.

"I'm so sorry, Sammy." He sounded choked, and his voice cracked on the last word. Sam shook his head hastily, already feeling guilty for doing this to Dean.

"No, my fault."

That seemed to do it in for Dean, his hatred finally reaching it's peak, forever irreversible. Dean sobbed hard, a sound Sam had never wanted to witness, and covered his mouth with one hand, trying to smother his torturous gasps of affliction and animosity. Sam must have been some sort of monster to make Dean react like this, the same monster they set out to kill. If they didn't destroy him soon, his disease would spread and he might just end up disappointing and hurting everyone he came into contact with. He couldn't allow that, not to the people he cared about...not Dean. Never had he considered suicide, but it seemed so tempting now. He was aching for the absolution of his sins, aching for the relief and happiness Dean would has no doubt deserved. If he could release Dean from his pain from a simple slice of the wrist then, wasn't that the least he could do?

Sam eyed the room discreetly, both turmoil and fervor boiling under his skin, keeping his eyes off the figures in front of him to see a knife lying precariously on the edge of the small table, located behind both Dean and his father. He'd have to get around them to get it, but maybe he could fake it, glide into it for the kill that would no doubt take place.

A plan in mind, his eyes still painstakingly blurry, had him slowly scooting to the side of the bed opposite from Dean. John would better allow Sam's plan to become success, his hatred filled with too much animosity to let such a wondrous deed slip by. Sam, for once, thanked his father's less-than-concealed aversion to him.

He threw his legs tediously over the side of the bed, and he could already hear Dean in motion, working swiftly to get to the other side of the bed. Surprisingly, John moved toward him, too; not to lash out but, rather, hold him still, stop him from trying to get up. Sam sat there in confusion. Why wasn't John letting him go? Of course he'd want to allow death to reach him. Why was he stopping him?

Sam allowed himself to be kept in place, not out of will but of astonishment. Dean had made his way to Sam in record time, and was already kneeling in front of Sam, his hand rubbing soothingly against Sam's knee. He flinched, and Dean pulled back not a second after. His eyes were full of the slightest ounce of rejection, but was instantly overcome by understanding, more pain.

Sam closed his eyes tightly. When would he finally stop hurting everyone he loved? Was he such a monstrous creature that he inflicted suffering no matter how hard he tried not to?

Once again his eyes flashed to the knife. He was thankful the room wasn't so big, the table pushed into the far corner of the room. He could get to it though, he knew, if he just did a little coaxing.

Sam tried to get up again. "I'm fine." He sniffled obviously, not really helping his case, but John released his hand from him nonetheless and Dean, reluctantly, stood to give him space. He could see Dean watching him carefully, though he could tell Dean was trying to be discreet, as if skeptical at what Sam's plan really was. Was it actually that obvious, or did Dean know him better than he had initially thought?

Dean stayed ever vigilant as Sam eased himself meticulously off the bed, getting closer to his destination with every movement. He turned away from Dean, deliberately walking more toward John, but passed by both of them, being wary of the knife's location in his peripheral vision. They followed behind him and, to Sam's surprise, seemed to be crying softly, both of them. Sam nearly did a doubletake, a small blunder on his part. What were they doing? Were they..._sad?_ Sam realized that, after all this time, he'd barely made eye-contact with Dean or John since his secret was out. _All the better. They wouldn't have to look at your miserable self much longer. _

He inched toward the table, fully recovered, but somehow sore from his curled up position on the bed. The small table neared closer and, when it looked as though he was going to pass it was when he made his move. He snatched his hand up, his fingers curling tightly around the handle, preparing himself for the sting it would make against his flesh.

And then he was on the floor, his breath knocked out of him before he could even think properly. The knife was out of his grasp and out of reach in an instant, flung across the room and hit the wall with an obnoxious, heavy thud. Sam felt suddenly light-headed from defeat before any other emotion could cross his face. Had he failed? Whatever had gotten in his way had stopped him from reaching his goal, his one last, final job to bring his only family happiness at last. Tears spewed like waterfalls from his eyes, and he didn't care if Dean and John thought he was weak. It was useless anyway. He was exactly the same as four years ago; weak, stupid, annoying, weak, incompetent, moronic, weak, naive, and the worst, _weak. _

Something wet fell lightly against his back, the small dripping noise increasing in frequency, and it seemed to bring him back to reality a bit. Whatever had pushed him out of the way was currently keeping him from escape, the warm body pressed gingerly against his back, as if fearful of hurting him any more than necessary. Sam tested how much he could move from under the immobile figure, twisting his arms and kicking with his legs gently. The figure allowed the movement, backing off an eighth of an inch. Sam used the opportunity to turn back onto his back, to see face-to-face who had done this to his family.

He gasped, watching with utter confusion as Dean, the figure towering over him, smiled a sad, melancholy smile, tears dripping off his nose and chin, bouncing lightly off Sam's shirt. His eyes looked hardened, and there were dark smudges under them. What had happened to him? His suddenly cadaverous exterior was depthless in it's sorrow, his eyes wrinkling in all the wrong spots and mouth twisted in more of a grimace.

Sam looked at Dean in horror and frustration, bringing his hand up to trace lightly under his eyes, as if the dark smudges would go away with the proper treatment. Dean closed his eyes, allowing the trembling fingers to trail over his tears, wiping them away. Had Sam done this to him? Had Dean pushed Sam away from the blade's edge on purpose? Did he not_ want_ him dead like Sam had thought?

Sam stuttered, "I, I...-". He swallowed loudly, his lips and tongue suddenly dry and painful. He didn't know if he had the strength to speak, let alone word his question the way he had in his head. What had Dean stopped him for? Wasn't this what he had wanted? A better place without Sam?

He was so confused, his entire life crashing before him, all culminating into one, big fuckup. Was this even about Sam's past? Did Dean care; care that he had done something stupid or care that he had gotten hurt? Sam didn't know what to believe anymore. Of course Dean had loved him but, Sam had thought, once Dean found out, he wouldn't want him anymore. Was that even the case?

Sam sniffed, his hand rolling gently passed Dean's nose to wipe away another stray tear. Dean opened his eyes, huge orbs of sadness, and stared into Sam's for some kind of explanation. Sam gave him none, just dropped his hand onto his stomach, his shirt feeling damp.

Suddenly, Dean shook his head, his eyes bright with anger and sadness. He ground his teeth together and Sam could feel Dean's hands clench up on either side of his face. "How _could _you?" Dean spat, physically shaking. "How could you even _think _to do that to us?" Tears started falling in excess again, dribbling down his face and onto Sam's palm.

Tears fell unheedingly down Sam's face and, to be honest, he wasn't even aware of them anymore. Just Dean, Dean and his nearly palpable rage. It scared him.

Sam choked on his words, "I thought...I thought you wouldn't...want me. Now that...you knew. I'm...sorry." A sob burst through him, only intensifying his pain, but he fought hard to keep it down and looked away from Dean swiftly, as if hoping to hide his breakdown.

From Sam's peripheral vision he saw Dean suddenly duck his head, then land it against his stomach, his palm. Sobs broke through him, his entire body wracked with a violent, neverending stream of depression. In the background, Sam could hear someone else crying, pushed so hard by some unknown force that they fell to the ground in a heap.

Sam choked. "I'm...I'm so sorry...All my fault."

Quickly, Dean shook his head fiercely, shooting up like a weed to stare at Sam's defenseless body. He watched Sam, fire in his eyes, and grabbed at Sam's collar, being careful not to be too rough. He did shake him though, as if to make sure he was listening.

"No, Sammy, _no. _You listen to me. This. Is. Not. Your. Fault." Dean looked like he wanted to break down again, but his sudden anger efficiently reigned it in.

Sam trembled under Dean's hands, at a loss for words. So he wasn't being blamed for this? Not any of it? But...he had done this to himself, right? If he had trained more, worked harder, none of it would have happened. This _was _his fault.

Sam shook his head tentatively, almost frightened of Dean's reaction. "N-no. My fault. Brought this all...on myself." Sam nodded self-consciously, at the moment in full agreement with himself.

Dean shook him again, harder this time, and Sam couldn't help but flinch. A strong hand was placed on Dean's shoulder and pulled him back, and Sam, without thinking, scooted back an inch. Is that why Dean had stopped him? So he could kill him himself?

No, that couldn't be. Dean's face was full of sadness, not anger or malice. Wait...Sam did a doubletake before fully considering something. Did Dean still...care? Did he, despite Sam's exposed secret, still love Sam like a brother would, or was Sam just fluttering high on merely hope, hope that he hadn't completely fucked up the rest of his life?

Dean was standing now, barely held in control by John, who was blatantly fighting to keep him from doing something stupid...or deserved. Sam stood on feeble legs, watching Dean carefully. If he planned to take a crack at him, well, Sam didn't have the heart or reason to stop him. Maybe if he could hit him to death...

No. He would not escape from what he's done, not that easily. He'd atone, he'd make sure they loved him, because he wouldn't do anything bad--do anything that could cause trouble for the Winchesters.

Eyes glistening, he trudged up until he was standing in front of Dean, whom had abruptly stopped all movement with wide, surprised eyes.

"I'm so sorry, Dean" Sam said, putting his arms around Dean's strong shoulders in a fierce hug, his hands resting in between his shoulder blades. Sam sniffed again, hit by a wave of grief. "I'll be good, I swear. I'll make you love me again."

Dean reacted almost an instant later, throwing his arms around Sam's thin waist and pulling him close. There was an inner turmoil boiling on the surface of his stance, his hands shaking around the small of Sam's back and his entire body quivering with angst. "No, Sammy, _no_."

Sam looked down, feeling suddenly rejected. "Wh-What--?"

Dean shook his head, stopping Sam mid-sentence, liquid falling from his eyes and landing on Sam's sleeve. "You can't make me love you, baby brother." Sam tensed in Dean's grip, and he just held tighter, dropping a kiss on Sam's forehead. "I already love you."

____

hope yall enjoyed!! one more chapter should suffice for the ending of this fanfic. sorry if it didnt happen the way you may have preferred or depicted it to be. i didnt really know this was going to happen either; this chapter just kinda wrote itself.


	6. Chapter 6

hello finally! thanks to everyone thats stuck with me so far! its taken forever to get this entire story up, and my brain _may_ just burst through my skull, which would ruin my day significantly. despite this, however, i have made haste to put this final chapter together (before i start gracefully barfing all over the carpet, of course. gotta keep our priorities straight).

--oh, and thanks for everyone's ideas! i hope i incorporated them well!

anyway, enjoy!!

p.s.- the turn i put in this story is pretty intense, so i expect some controversy. hopefully its not too unwanted, but i kind of like the spin. god, how malevolent and satanic am i?

________

Sam had fallen asleep in Dean's arms, his head resting lightly on Dean's shoulder and legs curled up artfully to the side. The night had been uneventful after Sammy confessed his soul, and Dean his, his little brother just resting in his arms on the floor until he succumbed into darkness. Gently, Dean had carried him to the bed and tucked him in, Sam murmuring lightly in his sleep.

Presently, Dean's eyes were still stinging with tears, but he was holding them in much better than before. Now, he could at least_ see, _a major improvement on his part. John had taken to sitting at the small table in front of Sam's bed, Dean joining him soon after, his unconventional silence a hint at the pain lurking deep in the recesses of his mind.

Dean wished there was something to distract him, something to make him forget this entire day even happened so he could just live blissfully in a world where there were no monsters in the form of humans and, worse yet, no humans trying to be like monsters.

But he had to remember it, all of this, didn't he? Someone had hurt his baby brother, hurt his brother in a way that was no way in _fucking hell _acceptable. And it was a _human_. How could he allow that, how could he not notice them or Sam's obvious suffering? He put his head in his hands, his elbows pressed hard into the rickety table, an almost welcoming pain. This was all Dean's fault, whether physically stated to him or not. He was supposed to protect his baby brother from _everything_, humans included. He was the elder of the two, it was his responsibility and he failed.

A hand pressed lightly against his shoulder. Dean looked up to see John now standing behind him, possibly trying to work up a small smile for reassurance. It wasn't working.

"Dean, this isn't your fault. You couldn't have known."

Dean turned away noticeably. Of course his father would try to comfort him,_ him_ and not _Sam_. Sam, the one that needed all the help he could get so he could get passed what Dean let happen, and John was trying to comfort Dean instead. Dean shook his head.

"Dad, you're not fooling anyone." Dean sighed loudly, turning back to meet his father's gaze foully. "As a matter of fact, you're not helping anyone either, so maybe you should just stop altogether."

He had been expecting fury on John's part, hoped for it, just to have someone be mad at other than himself, but the sad demeanor John put on was of neither fury nor rage. Dean turned back to the table, suddenly livid. John was their father, _Sam's_ father, wasn't he supposed to play the role of guardian and protector, too? Dean pursed his lips as his eyebrows curled into a "V", deep in thought. John shouldn't be trying so hard to alleviate Dean's own self-hatred, John should have more than enough of his own. Did he even care? What if Sam never fully recovers? Would John keep trying, working to heal Sammy mentally, or stop when he realizes there is no cure?

Dean felt tears stinging his eyes, suddenly unsure of his father. The worst part was, he didn't even know the answer to his question. _Would_ his father do everything he could, or just go through the motions to make it look like he was trying?

He spun around in his chair, fully expecting an extravagant explanation, when he saw his father with tears in his eyes, looking over his shoulder longingly at the other bed. Dean turned around to see John watching Sam, sleeping peacefully under the sheets despite his obvious pain. Dean's own tears began to fall in earnest, both relieved and hurt at the same time. Dean was so happy that John cared, cared that Sam was hurting, he actually felt bad about questioning his father, but was utterly pained as to _why_ his father was sad. Sammy, _his_ Sammy, suffering, and he didn't know what to do about it. Now that he finally understood what was happening, Dean noticed that, all these years, Sam's health had been slowly deteriorating. He was too skinny, his bones protruding lightly from under his flesh. One time when they were training Dean remembered how Sam's ribs were jutting out, his _ribs_, but, yet, what did Dean do about it? Nothing.

Dean sighed heavily, anger rising in him. He turned to his father, not even knowing what he wanted to say, when he noticed John snoring lightly from the other side of the table. He laughed despite himself, John's bent position anything but comfortable. Mercilessly, Dean left him there, deciding maybe it'd be best to try and get some sleep and crawled into the bed opposite Sam's.

------------

Sleep eluded him and, for the first time in a long time, Dean was glad for it. Moving his face an inch to the side, he discreetly watched as Sam slid silently from the small bed, his forehead glinting with sweat and fingers trembling. Dean gave the slightest glance in the direction of the clock, _5:46_, before watching as Sam slid carefully out the door, a small breeze wafting through his hair as he went.

Dean cursed silently, further blaming himself for his baby brother's pain, the pain Dean had caused and would gladly carry on his own shoulders if it were possible.

He lifted the sheets from his body and got out of bed, not even bothering to put on more clothes as he edged through the darkness toward the door and, more importantly, Sammy. He opened it quietly, hearing more than seeing John's consistent snoring intervals from the direction of the table and, satisfied, left, closing the door quietly behind him.

He saw Sam a little ways from the motel room, sitting carefully against a large willow tree, his knees bent and hands resting lightly on them. The sun was just coming up and, for once, Sam seemed almost at peace with the world. It made Dean's heart ache in a way he didn't know was possible, a painful jerk in his chest that knocked the breath out of him. He ignored it the best he could as he made his way to his baby brother, purposely stepping on particularly crunchy leaves to make Sam more aware of his presence. Sam didn't react outwardly, though, just staring blissfully at the rising sun.

Wordlessly, Dean sat beside Sam and leaned back against the colossal tree, it's leaves withered and depressed, just like Dean._ And Sam, too_, his mind mentally reminded him. From the corner of his eye, Dean saw Sam glance at him, his eyes widened slightly with surprise and what looked like momentary, sheer terror.

Dean's heart pumped heavily against his chest, almost wondering if he'd go into cardiac arrest. That'd be just his luck, too. Here he was trying to help Sammy, and then goes and dies on him before he can utter a damn word.

Dean's death aside, hadn't Sam heard him coming? He panicked, wondering if he'd maybe misread Sam's expression. Then Dean absently looked down at his bare chest and boxers, wide-eyed, and it dawned on him.

"Shit, Sammy, I'm sorry," Dean said hastily, working to get himself on his feet with suddenly awkward limbs. _Of course Sam would be scared of you, you're half-naked!_ He'd think Dean was trying something on his baby brother.

Sam shook his head, his cheeks red with shame, and pulled Dean back to the ground with a weak arm. "No, it's okay. I shouldn't...I shouldn't have reacted like that. I'm sorry." He looked away, and Dean could see tears shimmering in his eyes. He was embarrassed of his reaction to seeing Dean and now felt worse than ever.

Dean wanted to cry, so badly, but he had to be strong, for the both of them. He'd more-than-willingly carry the burden for them both if he only knew how, and God he wished he did. He carefully put his arm around Sam's slim shoulders, exaggerating his motions so Sam would see them coming and, even then, he watched Sam's frail body tremor slightly, then surrender under his touch. It hurt a little, but Dean didn't let that show in his voice.

"It's fine, Sammy. Not your fault."

Emotions crossed Sam's face then: anger, shame, humiliation. He shook his head hastily, still glassy-eyed, turning to Dean coldly. "No." Suddenly, he pushed Dean's arm from around his shoulders, then got to his feet on wobbly legs. Dean made a move to his feet then, after consideration, stayed where he was, his expression pained.

Sam walked a few feet away, as if needing space, and moved to a different, smaller tree. He leaned against it heavily, his hand pressing hard into the bark; the tree didn't even creak against his weight.

Dean licked his lips. "Sammy-", he tried.

"No. This is all my fault. Everything." He put his hand to his face, still avoiding Dean's gaze completely, as if about the break down.

Dean knew he would, too, his own eyes were already beginning to glisten.

"Listen, Sammy, please. What they did to you was_ not_ your fault. You didn't ask for any of this to happen."

Sam was shaking his head silently the entire time, as if proving wrong every word Dean said. "No, I allowed this to happen, I-". He stopped, his voice cracking. A tear glistened down his cheek, rolling silently down onto his chin. "It was all my fault. I was naive, stupid, and they knew it." He wiped the hand over his mouth and kept his gaze down, never allowing a glance in Dean's direction. "I should have known better."

Sam sat down where he was, a good two yards away from Dean, and kept his head in his hands, as if suddenly too heavy to continue fighting against inevitable gravity. Through the hands, Dean could see an unfamiliar smirk cross his features. "I fought, though. Damn, did I fight." He removed his hands and, finally, looked in Dean's direction, his eyes burning with something he'd never seen in Sam before, and it actually scared him. "Do you know how many sex toys they used so they'd get the reaction they wanted?"

Dean's eyes widened, tears now falling freely from his eyes. His baby brother had to deal with that, too? _Oh gosh, and I allowed this? _His dam burst, tears flowing in excess and eyes turning red from the pressure. It felt like someone had quite energetically pulled and tore his heart out, then stomped on it a few times for good measure. The world felt suddenly dark and unfamiliar, and he wept.

Sam's lip twitched into another malicious smile. "No? Well, me neither." He stood and closed the distance between himself and Dean. He crouched in front of him, his dark eyes never leaving Dean's. "Yes, I killed them for what they did, but still it haunts me. Every day. Every day I wake up to them touching me and taking shots of me, doing what they wanted me to do when I wanted no part of it. Do you think that's fair? Because I don't." He stops, leaving Dean's gaze to look at the sky, as if in thought. He turned back to Dean. "And then you guys find out. I had been dealing just fine before you found out. Yeah, it hurt, but I was living, wasn't I? I was good enough that y'all never found out, but now..." He breathed deeply, his mouth a grim line. "I don't know what to do anymore, how I'm expected to act. How am I supposed to keep going when my only family knows how disgusting and repulsive I am?"

By now Dean is trembling in pain and fury, every word sending electric volts into his torn heart. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," was all he could say before he fell back into the depression, sitting against that broken tree with nothing but broken, detached thoughts. How was he supposed to make this better? Sam didn't seem affected by his words or image, crouching before him indifferent and apathetic.

"Sorry?" His eyebrow twitched upward a moment before returning to it's place. "Yeah, so am I. But hey, it's over now, right?"

Dean shook his head spasmodically. "Sammy, please stop. Please, come back. I know, I know you're hurt, but don't act like this." He didn't know why he said it, or what he expected it to accomplish, because Sam seemed long gone. The pain Sam felt with Dean knowing his secret was out in the open and was affecting him in a way Dean would have never foreseen. There was no going back, no way to fix this.

Something akin to rage glimmered in Sam's eyes. "Come back? I'm still here, Dean, it's not like I've gone anywhere, got anywhere to go or anyone to see. I'm stuck here-- with you."

Sam got out of his crouch and sat in front of Dean, his legs crossed at the calves and arms folded lightly across his knees. He scrutinized Dean's expression, every minute tremble in his body and every tear that passed his eyes. His eyes grew lighter, sadder, as if he saw Dean's pain for the first time. "You're hurting, aren't you?" He turned his gaze away to watch a small squirrel perched on a thin branch, searching for food. Searching, but never finding. Didn't the squirrel deserve food? Did it do something so horrid that forgiveness and a small nut was no longer on the menu? What if it never finds any nourishment? Will it die alone, forgotten, or be aided by another, more loving and selfless squirrel? Would the squirrel then be redeemed?

Sam sighed quietly, and Dean watched him as best he could with the tears clouding his vision. Sam looked back to Dean, now with the gaze of sorrow and bereavement. "I'm sorry." Dean watched him, eyes wide, as Sam continued painfully, "I...you don't deserve this. And, more importantly, I don't deserve you, you or redemption." Sam crawled toward Dean and, to Dean's utter confusion, gave him a long, fierce hug. Dean's senses were on alert and tingling with joy but, before Dean realized he should hug back, Sam released him and stood. "I'm sorry for burdening you. You deserve better." He paused, his eyes despairing, before continuing. "I hope life brings you much happiness while I'm gone."

He walked up close to Dean's unstable and vulnerable physique and, before Dean could process that his mind was screaming at him to _move_, lifted his hand into a tight fist, veins pulsing from under his skin, and brought it down to Dean's face. Dean felt a mere moment of pain before falling into unconsciousness.

-------------

Dean woke to the sound of indistinct yelling, the noise and owner of the voice sounding distant and unclear. He felt a drop of liquid fall onto his cheek, and he opened his eyes drunkenly, as if disconnected from his body. He closed them tightly a second later, the risen sun blinding him.

The voice grew louder, more frantic, and Dean, cautiously, worked up the effort to open his eyes again, squinting painfully against the brightness. The body crouching over him deliberately moved to cover the large orb despite sounding tettering on insanity, and Dean made out the muscular physique and face as John Winchester. His mouth was moving much too fast for Dean to even faintly comprehend, but the tears in his eyes confused Dean, waking him up instantly. What could possibly make the great John Winchester cry?

Dean held up a hand above his face impatiently, "Whoa, whoa, I can't understand you, back up a little." _And talk English while you're at it._

"Sammy's gone!" John roared, a fat tear rolling down his cheek, holding up a piece of paper Dean hadn't noticed before. Then Dean's mind did a flashback. Of course, Sam left. Tears welled up in his eyes as it dawned on him. How could he have allowed it. His left eye twitched in sync, but he ignored it as he snatched the folded paper out of John's hand. He tore it open and, within a second, was reading it's heartbreaking words.

_Dear John and Dean Winchester,  
I'm sorry for all the trouble I have caused you both over the years, especially the pains of recently. You deserved none of it and, yet, there I was throwing it upon you anyway. What happened to me four years ago is my burden and my burden alone, and I don't want either of you to cry or grieve over it. By the time you get this message I will be long gone so, please, forget about me. Stop considering what you could have done differently or what you did to make this happen, because I know that's what you're thinking. None of this is you're fault, I just wish it didn't have to end like this. Somehow I feel like I'm doing the right thing here, but maybe it's just my imagination. I love you both so much, and even now I feel like you don't deserve what I'm doing to you right now. I know you both will be okay, though. You're Winchesters, and Winchesters don't give up; you fight, fight with all you've got even when there's nothing left to fight with. You two mean more to me than I can ever put in words, but I don't believe I was meant to stay sheltered in the comfort of your amity. The tainted squirrel is never meant to have the luxury of a nut._  
_-Sam W._

Right then, Dean broke. All the world had shattered in harmony, and there was no way to put the pieces together. Dean looked to John, the only other person that could be as broken as he was. How could this be meant to be? How could Sam believe that what he was doing was for the better? Dean lost the strength to hold himself upright, and he lay on the grassy fields, suddenly desolate and alone. This was the place Sam had said goodbye, hugged him for all he was worth then disappeared, out of his life forever. He cried, cried for a long time but how long was anyone's guess. Though he didn't see him, he had a feeling John was in the same boat as him, weeping as if the world had ended. And maybe it did. There was no inclination that made Dean think it hadn't.

After hours, hours that felt like true years, he turned to look at John. John, the man he loved so much but, right now, was just another disgusting reminder of what he had just lost. He turned to look at the grass, the tree Sam had previously leaned on, anything.

"What now?" John's voice was just another reminder, but he knew he had to answer. And he knew what he was going to say, too. His strength slowly returned to him, seeping through his bones as he lay defenseless on the ground. He looked up at the sky. It promised hope he didn't feel.

"We find him." He turned to John. "We find him and get him back." And, right then, he knew he meant those words. They would find his baby brother, no matter what it took, no matter what hell they crossed through to get there. He didn't fully understand what Sam wrote about in his note, but everyone, person and squirrel alike, is allowed a chance at redemption.


End file.
